


Baby, it's Cold Outside

by JHarkness



Category: Catching Fire - Movie (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Finnick lives, Fluff, M/M, so does District 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 04:31:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JHarkness/pseuds/JHarkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finnick visits Peeta in District 12 and experiences snow for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, it's Cold Outside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [13thDoctor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/13thDoctor/gifts).



> I wrote this a while ago (when I first saw Catching Fire, in fact), and decided to edit it around Mockingjay part 1. I hope you like it!

Outside the vehicle in which Finnick Odair was confined, the clouds were dark and thick. They spread across the gray sky menacingly, and the Victor found himself wrapping his fingertips inside the sweater material that gathered at his wrist. Despite the warmth inside the car—physical warmth, at least—the cold felt like it could hollow out his bones.

The Peacekeepers sat stiffly next to him, rigid and anonymous in their white suits that somehow managed to make them look darker than the storm around District 12. Finnick felt confined and small, wary and anxious. He could never tell if they were looking at him.

Making an angry noise of protest, the armored car skidded to a halt as it reached the gates of the District. Dejected-looking plants surrounded the crude fence, and the fisherman felt dread settle into his stomach as he absorbed the barbed wire, the emaciated occupants rushing to see the newcomer, the Peacekeepers all too ready to pull out the guns still smoking with malice. Finnick hated the Capitol, but he couldn’t imagine he hated it more that the poor men, women, and children of District 12.

He didn’t hate it more than the people he was here to walk past, all white-toothed smile and expensive, posh clothes. He felt sick.

Finnick exited the vehicle slowly, door creaking against the frost as it was torn open by a female Peacekeeper. She bore no helmet, and her eyes followed the blonde as he pried himself from the heated interior. Skin prickling as the December air snuck under his sweater, he pulled his white cable-knit closer and nodded at his escorts. They returned the gesture, but more out of superiority than respect. He followed miserably, breath fogging in front of his face. His tan skin was stark against the bleak landscape, and the Victor only became more aware of this as he was led farther into the District. Pale faces greeted him, smiles dancing across their faces at the sight of the illustrious Finnick Odair. He watched grimy faces peer curiously from doorways, only to be pulled back in by thin mothers and fathers. Lascivious gazes followed his steps, and he tried to keep his golden smile as bile coated his dry throat.

It was difficult not to feel like a king walking the coal-dusted streets.

By the time he reached Victor's Village, every muscle in the fisherman's body was shaking. The cold was suffocating, and each breath felt like a blow from a sword. Needles stung his skin where it was not already numb. Finnick couldn’t comprehend living through this day by day; the quivering of his spine or the chattering of his teeth or the blue of his lips. When he finally saw Haymitch duck from his doorway and beckon him in, he exhaled a storm of clouds and sprinted as quickly as his immobilized legs would allow.

The Peacekeepers reached for their weapons, alarmed, and then relaxed as they saw Finnick collapse against the wall. He breathed in the warmth greedily, hands stuffed under his arms and head still shrugged into his shoulders. They retreated, and the Victor was left to warm his blood.

Haymitch laughed at the younger man’s gritted teeth. “You’re ridiculous,” he scoffed, but he was smiling. "I’m glad you could make it.” The words were slightly slurred. He pulled the other victor in for a sloppy hug, almost tripping over the empty bottles of liquor that covered the floor.

Finnick let himself be smothered, body still in shock over the sudden change in temperature. His body was thawing slowly, but it wasn’t recovering.

A chuckle sounded from the hall behind the embracing Victors, and then a familiar, affectionate voice called, "Alright, old man, let him breathe."

Finnick disentangled himself from the older man, somewhat awkwardly because Haymitch was nowhere near sober. The scent of alcohol remained.

"Peeta," he breathed. His voice shook audibly, and he looked down, suddenly nervous. He flushed, embarrassed then for being embarrassed, and traced imaginary patterns in the wooden floor with his boot. Finnick heard the younger Victor say something to him and looked up.

“Hm, sorry?” The fisherman pushed his chest up, ostentatious as he attempted to regain his typical pride.

Peeta laughed; one, short, bark, and then repeated himself. “I said ‘Hey, stranger.’” The baker's eyes, usually so worn from nightmares of the games, brightened as he looked at Finnick.

“Oh, yes. Hey.” He hadn’t realized Peeta was walking toward him until they were a foot apart, and then he let a ridiculous grin break over his face. Finnick pulled Peeta in for a tight embrace, breathing in the scent of fresh bread and warm ovens. The boy from 12 responded in kind, pulling the fisherman's arms around himself so tightly that his lungs screamed for release. "I missed you," he whispered.

"I know." Finnick brushed his lips against Peeta's ear, lightly, patiently. They stepped apart afterward, abruptly conscious that Haymitch was still standing in the room. But if he thought the embrace was perhaps little more than sociable, he said nothing.

It was only when the mentor gave Finnick a pointed look that he realized his hands were still on Peeta’s waist.

He snapped them back as the front door opened, frigid air assaulting all of them due to its opener’s carelessness. Katniss stepped in, hair wet and frizzy. The hunter smiled as amiably as she could manage, shedding her coat as her eyes darted around the room. When she noticed Finnick, she gave him a short hug and then sat down to remove her soaked boots.

The fisherman started, confounded at the powdery substance covering the Victor. Quietly, he inquired, "Is it raining?" He brushed his fingers over Katniss’ coat and pulled the mystery material off, observing it on his fingertips as if it were a rare gemstone.

Three bemused faces regarded him, eyes flicking to one another as they tried to figure out if Finnick was joking.

When they realized that he was not, they burst into full, rich laughter. Peeta’s lips curled into an admiring expression, morphing his features from mockingly incredulous to adoring. He cocked his head toward the window and nudged Finnick’s shoulder gently.

"It's better than that."

Finnick turned his head, and, following Peeta's gaze, let out a gasp of surprise. "What _is_ that?" He pointed enthusiastically at the crystals of white falling down and coating the dirty streets, heart thumping strangely against his chest. He wasn’t sure if that was due to Peeta’s shoulder still pressed into his own, or because of the powder descending from the sky. He decided that both seemed rather plausible.

"It's snow!" Katniss erupted into laughter once more, shaking the flurries from her hair. Finnick stared.

"Don't tell me you've never seen snow?" Peeta added, dubious.

"Only broadcasted," Finnick muttered, face turning a brilliant shade of red. He shuffled closer to the window, mouth agape as his eyes followed the flurries to the ground. Fingers leaving wet imprints against the glass, the Victor moved across the room in order to see the phenomenon from every angle possible. Eventually, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and a low voice in his ear said, "Come with me."

Finnick took the offering with his famous grin, which only became broader as he noticed the flustered way Peeta received it. Katniss tossed him a coat, and he accepted it begrudgingly. While it would keep him warm, it in no way matched his outfit. The other Victor raised her eyebrows as he stared at it, and he finally put it on. It smelled like squirrel.

Frowning, Finnick followed Peeta toward the door. His skin already ached at the simple memory of the temperature outside. As the door flew open, however, any reservations were replaced with a childish joy that the fisherman could barely remember feeling. He gripped Peeta’s hand tightly as they descended the house’s now-slippery stairs, and the baker returned the pressure.

Haymitch shut the door behind them, and then they were alone with the snow.

The wind carried the flakes through Finnick’s hair, and he felt laughter rumbling through his chest as he opened his mouth out in order to catch them. Peeta beamed, staring at his pink tongue against the snow-coated landscape.

"It's beautiful," Finnick shouted over the wind, his aversion to the frozen world of District 12 long forgotten. He pulled Peeta in close, holding his hips like he was going to dance with him. Feeling bold, he mouthed against the other boy’s neck, "But not as beautiful as you." Peeta scoffed at his friend's words but flushed scarlet all the same, numb fingers brushing against Finnick's blue lips as he pulled back to look at him.

He glanced back at the house hurriedly, and then around the street, before leaning forward. Heat returned to his face as his lips reached Finnick's. They kissed softly, with hesitant lips and tongues and fingertips. The older Victor bunched his fingers in Peeta’s overcoat and pulled him closer, until they were chest to chest and the air between them burned.

Their breath clouded around their mouths as Peeta pulled away, gasping slightly. He leaned his forehead against Finnick’s. As they stood in Victor’s Village, white flakes evolving into a blizzard around them, Finnick realized that he loved the snow.


End file.
